See you on the Other Side
by Burnee14
Summary: The tale of a vampire, looking for a place to call home for over five centuries. He finds that place in New Orleans, but it was too good to last. Now, presented with shocking information, he must set out to discover more about his past. What happens when his web of lies begin to un-ravel and his true identity is revealed? (AU, OC, Please Review!) *Delena & other ships* (On Hiatus!)


**See you on the Other Side**

**Prologue**

Spencer flung the drained body to the side. There were so many deaths- mostly caused by vampires- that nobody had to clear up; they made the witches do it. He was on a night out with his friends, drinking the night away. Blood and booze was a _lethal_ combination. The body was nameless and Spencer hadn't even looked at her face, before sinking his fangs into her neck, enjoying the rush gained from the feed.

Looking up, he saw that his friends had also finished their meal and had dis-guarded the new corpses to the side of the ally. They had hit the jackpot earlier that evening when a group of youths, so far out of their own heads with drugs and alcohol, had strayed into their hunting area. Vampires were allowed to roam freely at night, killing as they please. Nobody noticed, nobody cared. Marcel saw to that.

This is why vampires flocked to New Orleans. They only had to abide by two rules; don't interfere with the witches and night-time _only_. The second was easy to follow, because none but a few of Marcel's chosen 'helpers' had day-light rings and this made going into the sun impossible, unless you fancied self-combustion. The first was more difficult, because the witches often interfered with the vampires, but it seemed calmer recently, again probably down to Marcel's doing.

Spencer was nearly five-hundred years old, although he told people that he was a lot younger. He hid, keeping a low radar, because there was someone new in town that he didn't want finding out the truth. Klaus Mikaelson, Original Hybrid. Marcel's sire and builder of N.O. He didn't personally have any problem with Klaus, but according to his mother, _he_ would have a problem with Spencer. He didn't know why exactly, but he changed his surname anyway. Spencer Richards, aged twenty-two when turned and vampire for five years. People couldn't find out the _truth_.

* * *

Sunlight streamed in through Spencer's apartment window, an apartment he had all to himself. On a nice day, the view outside was magnificent. The apartment was more of a penthouse, on the top floor of a newly-renovated block of flats. The bedroom was spacious, although it was decorated with little more than the cream-coloured paint on the walls, the kitchen was state of the art and hardly used. Not one of his friends new about it. No vampire around here could afford a place so big, or so extravagant; it was his own secret hang-out.

His head was pounding slightly, a near fraction of the hangover he would have had if he were human. The light burned his eyes and made him squint, although it didn't come into direct contact with any of his flesh. The windows were designed to stop any ultra-violet rays from entering the room, a feature he had installed over twenty years ago, when he first visited the city and bought this room. He had only returned to it in the past year, after breaking contact with his mum, when she decided to go off with her boyfriend for a while; doing what, he still wasn't sure.

The past five hundred years had been spent with his mum, not a particularly pleasant existence, but not a completely shocking one either. She had become pregnant with him at a very young age and a mere week after his delivery, had gone in search of a vampire to be turned. She had never told him why and he had never asked. It was his decision to be turned on his twenty-second birthday, after the death of his lover; Willow. She had died in child-birth and not being able to stand the thought of raising his daughter without her, he had given his child to a couple that were unable to conceive and desperate for a baby girl. He never tried looking for her, too stricken with grief.

Spencer drew the covers away from his half clothed body, his back muscles rippled and flexed as he sat up. The grey work-out shorts he wore were hanging from his hips and his bare front was ridged with a six-pack. He ran a careless hand through his wavy locks and stood, looking in the mirror. Gazing back at him was a young man, physically very fit; with light blond/brown hair, dark blue eyes, light coffee skin and a chiselled jaw with a day's worth of stubble. The only thing that looked out of place was the slight blood smear at the corner of his mouth, the only reminder of what had gone on last night and well into the early hours of the morning. Smiling, he licked it away, letting his veins come to the surface and fangs extend slightly. It was starting to darken into twilight; Spencer had slept most of the day and soon it would be time to hunt again. But first, he had to shower, because he seriously smelt.

After showering, he reached into his small oak wardrobe and took out a leather jacket and paired it with a tight-fitting, white t-shirt and some casual denim jeans and, kicking his feet into a pair of old of boots, walked out of the door, locking it behind him. Using his vampire speed, he went down the stairs (of which there were a lot) and continued out onto the cobbled, spot lit street. Music was starting to pour out of neighbouring bars and nightclubs, pretty woman and arrogant men wandered the alleyways, unaware of the horrors that surrounded them. Following the twists and turns of the streets, Spencer eventually reached the main hangout for blood-suckers. Marcel hired the place every night, there was always drinks and food to feed an army. It all went; that was how many vampires now roamed New Orleans. It was only Marcel's right-hand men had any real wealth, the rest of them didn't need it or have it, which is why Spencer's penthouse would cause quite the drama.

The night continued; Spencer found his friends with a group of young ladies, all compelled to allow any vampires to feed off them. He took the wrist of a particular girl, who had long, golden hair that shimmered in the pulsing lights that came from above them, in sync to the blaring song that radiated for miles. He had always preferred blondes for some reason. That thought brought him to Willow's face, but it didn't stop him in his tracks as it would have done to some vampires. Spencer's emotions were off. And he didn't _feel_ like turning them back on any time soon.

That was how Spencer lived for the next two weeks, the same way he had lived for the last nine months, since his mum had left for greener pastures. He had refused to go with her, they were always changing destination, always on the road. New Orleans wasn't his favourite city by a long way, but it was a place where he felt safe and a place he could call home. That was until he received the letter. He never received letters. The postman could never be bothered to climb all the stairs and he couldn't be bothered to install a letter locker downstairs, it was a mutual agreement that had always just gone unspoken. There was no need for letters; he paid all his bills online, using his debit card that contained over half a million dollars. All his friends were in New Orleans and would just text him on his i-Phone.

The letter was old, a few years old. The paper was yellowing and slightly dirty, but there was no wording on the front. It was only when he turned it over that he saw the seal, made from red wax and stamped with a family crest that he hadn't laid eyes on for years, not since his mother had shown him a picture of his grandmother; her necklace in the sketch the exact replica of the image imprinted on the envelope. The sketch had been beautiful and intricate, showing his grandmother to be the beautiful woman that his mother had always described; although she tells him that they never actually met because she abandoned her the day she was born. Spencer didn't know how she had come by the drawing, but she seemed sensitive on the topic, so he never looked too far into it. Officially intrigued, he ripped into the envelope and retrieved the piece of paper that lay inside. The words he read next made him freeze.

_Spencer,_

_I have kept this letter with me for a long time, ready to send it when the time came. I want you to know how much I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are the one thing that I don't regret. Whilst most of my decisions were selfish, I still feel they were necessary and for that, you may never forgive me. Life, in its many different forms, can be great and it can also be tragic. I hope now, when we meet again, we can share stories of the many years that you spent in happiness, surrounded by friends and people who love and cherish you. Never doubt my love for you, ever._

_See you on the other side,_

_Yours forever,_

_Nat_

Spencer crumpled under the barrage of emotion that he had kept locked up over the last few months. His mother was dead. Tears fell down his face, the streaks of water making a path down his face. This was his fault… It was his fault. He should have stopped her from going on whatever crazy journey that she had set out on. He knew that something was up; she seemed more determined than ever when she left him here. Without the prospect of Nat ever returning, he decided that there was no life left for him in New Orleans.

There was a hastily scrawled note at the end of the letter, not in his mother's handwriting and a lot fresher than the rest of the pen work. It told him all he needed to know; an address, where he could find vengeance. He walked over to the wardrobe and hit out the fake panel that lined the very top shelf; in the hidden compartment was a box. Lifting the lid, he drew out an old ring. One more secret in his never-ending list.

* * *

Spencer was exhausted. His emotions were everywhere and he had just had to walk thirty miles from the nearest train station. The town he had now reached was small and nearly deserted at this hour, with only the odd person returning home with their morning groceries. The reason his mum had decided to come here was beyond him.

The map he had brought was crumpled and hardly legible, but he could just make out that his destination was close to where he now stood. He started walking east, following a narrow road that seemed to go on forever. It was just when he felt as if he were about to collapse, that he saw the house. It was huge, made from brick and wood, adorned by large open grounds and a stone footpath. This was where his mother had been murdered? Doubt began seeping its way into his mind, maybe it just wasn't true? But no; it had been his mother's handwriting that adorned the piece of paper that was now tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket. The only words he could pull from his mind were '_See you on the other side'_, the supernatural purgatory where vampires and witches went when they died. It was only recently, with the return of the original hybrid, that he had also discovered that werewolves existed, although he wasn't really surprised.

Summoning up his courage, he climbed the stone steps and walked up to the large door that guarded the entrance. He had brought no belongings with him, nothing to remind him of his past life. He was going to start afresh, but first he needed answers and _they_ were on the other side of this door. He knocked.

A girl that must have been around eighteen or nineteen came to the door, smiling, albeit slightly confused. Her skin had the same coffee tone as his did and her hair was a slightly darker shade of brown, her eyes were deep and the colour of chocolate. She was a vampire, he could just sense it. She was also incredibly familiar.

'_Grandmother_?' was all he could choke out as he collapsed to the ground, blacking out because it was just_ so much easier_.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who has read this! Please leave a review and let me know what you think! Burnee xx**


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